


A matter of proportion

by FLWhite



Category: The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue Series - Mackenzi Lee
Genre: First Time, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sensitive Ears, generous endowments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-10 21:43:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13510359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FLWhite/pseuds/FLWhite
Summary: In front of him, the beautiful firm-muscled body of Percy Newton gleams softly in the still-strong light of late afternoon, damp with seawater and the exertion of climbing the cliffs back to their little cottage. Percy has just let his shirt fall from his fingers and onto the mingled heap of their clothes on the floor tiles, then straightened, nude. He smiles and says, tenderly, as he approaches the bed, "Monty.""Unghum," says Monty. He tries clearing his throat. Now nothing comes out at all when he opens his mouth. It is a deeply alien sensation.****Monty and Percy's first time is full of surprises.





	A matter of proportion

This was all wrong. Very wrong.  
  
Never, in the thousands of turgid fantasies he'd harbored about the man he loved, did Henry Montague think he would be frozen like a terrified virgin on his wedding night, silent and sweating, as he is now.  
  
In front of him, the beautiful firm-muscled body of Percy Newton gleams softly in the still-strong light of late afternoon, damp with seawater and the exertion of climbing the cliffs back to their little cottage. Percy has just let his shirt fall from his fingers and onto the mingled heap of their clothes on the floor tiles, then straightened, nude. He smiles and says, tenderly, as he approaches the bed, "Monty."  
  
"Unghum," says Monty. He tries clearing his throat. Now nothing comes out at all when he opens his mouth. It is a deeply alien sensation.  
  
The heat in his face is more oppressive than the Aegean sun under which they had an hour before bade farewell to his sister, Scipio, and the rest of the crew of the Eleutheria. In every daydream he'd had in the days between their mutual confession in the surf and the moment when the Eleutheria dipped below the horizon, he'd immediately thrown his arms around Percy and kissed the man until he ran out of breath, and then they'd be magically stripped, abed, and he'd be putting every skill he'd ever learned to excellent use and it would be hours of perfect magnificence, fireworks exploding and the earth shaking, and Percy would look at him with love and amazement and awe, because this was something he was actually good at.  
  
Well, there had been kissing, and there was certainly mutual wrapping in arms, and they had certainly made good, if sweaty, time up the cliffside paths and into the bedroom. It was in retrospect rather silly of them to have somehow agreed without saying it to wait until Felicity was away with the ship, first. But somehow he had felt shy from the start, stiff and slow, unable to meet Percy's eyes. The inseam of his breeches has been painfully tight the whole way back from the beach, but instead of feeling like a firework ready for launch, he feels more like hiding under all the blankets, or fleeing at top speed from the house. Maddening.  
  
And then Percy had to go and start taking off his clothes, and he tremblingly followed suit, and damn it all, how's a man supposed to think or speak or twitch a finger when all that, all of Percy, is before his eyes?  
  
He chews his bottom lip as Percy takes another step toward where he sits stiffly on the edge of the bed. "Monty?" A long-fingered hand cups his good cheek. "What's wrong?" Percy, damn him, kneels with the grace of a panther and the supple slide of muscles under skin makes Monty want to cross his legs or put a pillow over his lap. "I--we don't have to--"  
  
"No!" His voice comes out like the squeak of an antediluvian hinge. "No," he says, trying to sound as dashing as he should be feeling. "I want to." He can feel Percy smile; he tries to look up from under his lashes and smile back, but it's like looking into the sun, so he probably looks more like a frightened ape baring its teeth.  
  
Percy catches his hand. "Monty, something's wrong. Is it--we were going too fast, climbing. Did it hurt you?" A careful finger begins to turn his face so that the wounds can be better seen, but he violently shakes his head.  
  
"No, I'm fine. I," he sucks in as big a breath as he can. "I want to but I, but you--" there's no way around it, oh God--"your--um--it's--" he flails a hand, desperately--"it's--it's so _big_."  
  
A beat of silence falls, punctuated by the cries of gulls. Percy straightens from his crouch. Monty finds himself terrified to look at Percy's face, or to breathe. Then comes a huff, followed by a most ungentlemanly and un-Percy-like guffaw. "Too big?" Percy rapidly approaches full-on hysterics, clutching at his middle. "Lord Henry Montague, lover and gallant extraordinaire! Master flirt! King of charm!"  
  
"Well," Monty grumbles,"it is very large. I've seen a few in my day and it is by far the largest of the lot. I've seen you without your knickers before and it's never looked like this."  
  
"Well, we weren't like this before, were we, Monty?" Percy is of a sudden close, very close, kneeling on the bed and straddling his lap, so that Monty's face is a few finger-widths from Percy's warm solar plexus. Lower down, though, skin is definitely, goosebump-inducingly touching skin. Specifically, Percy's motion kissed together precisely Percy's very generous endowment with his own, a milquetoast of a prick by comparison. "Were we?"  
  
Percy cranes down to kiss him; he tears away after a moment, panting, as he begins to slump backward, cradled by Percy's arm behind his shoulder blades, "What if--"  
  
"What if what?" breathes Percy against his neck. The quantity of Percy's flesh in contact with his own is threatening to render Monty's brain into warm mush.  
  
"I'm--what if I'm no good," he stammers, imagining the mush dripping from his ears, "what if I can't--what if--it's too big--"  
  
"Oh, Monty," Percy chuckles. "Who's the virgin here, after all?"  
  
He makes a strangled sound. "Wha--you're a--you?" Percy somehow manages to look indulgent, embarrassed, shy, and sly all at once while rolling his eyes. "You never--?"  
  
"I never."  
  
"Never?" He gulps, involuntarily looking down at the monstrous cock pressed between them, against his belly, the foreskin fully retracted, the entire thing looking quite impatient. Percy's rather less hirsute than Monty had imagined here, and the lack of garnish makes the main course look even more imposing.  
  
"I believe they don't require nourishment from sun nor rain nor another's hand to grow," Percy says with mock seriousness. "They miraculously bloom and thrive all on their own." He kisses Monty's jaw. "Don't be frightened, love."  
  
"I'm not frightened, I'm only--just--"  
  
"We shan't do anything you don't want," Percy's seriousness is real, this time. "Not now, or ever." He pets Monty's bare chest as though he were a small animal. Then his fingers seize a nipple and gave it a bold pinch, which makes Monty squeal. "Now for God's sake touch me."  
  
***  
He was right, of course. He can't fit the damn thing in his mouth--not even what feels to be half of it, anyhow. It strains his grip. In the past, there had been plenty of imagining Percy over him or behind him, entering him and filling him and making his eyes roll like marbles in his head, before, but the thought now makes his insides clench, and not at all in a pleasing manner.  
  
But knowing that Percy's never had another, that no other hand has been where his now roams, pressing the sensitive skin between balls and prick and stroking the tight little hole, squeezing that firm arse, is also deliriously delicious. The knowledge makes him grit his teeth in the determination to give Percy those damn fireworks and earthquakes that by God Percy so richly deserves. And so he strives.  
  
The noises that he extracts with ministrations of fingers and tongue are encouraging, as is the arch of Percy's back as Monty tries to seal his mouth around Percy's wretched, beautiful cock. As he applies himself, he manages to look up, and nearly forgets what he's doing. Percy lies so open there, so gorgeous, his dark hair damp and mussed, one beautiful hand twisting the bedsheets, the other resting lightly on Monty's good cheek. "Perce," he says vehemently.  
  
"Mon--oh, oh no," Percy replies, hastily, trying to sit up. "Does it hurt you--"  
  
"Percy, shut up, please. Stop apologizing." He clenches a fist around the cock--his fingers can't quite close--and thrills to see Percy gasp sharply and fall backward again. The knowledge of the power he wields is reassuring, steadying. He feels himself again, though lust is nearly crushing his reason, making his vision throb. "I'm just looking." He adds his other hand to the first and bends to the chalice they form. He imagines the motion would look almost like the veneration of a relic, but for the sounds he makes at obscene volume as he lets himself lick and dribble onto his hands and Percy's cock.  
  
Monty's always been a greedy lover; he doesn't like to wait, hates it, in fact. But this is the first for Percy, and for Percy and him, and he must force himself to not try to rush. So he applies himself, panting and feeling as though his arteries will burst through his skin. Now slow long strokes with the flat of his tongue from tip to base as his hands work the soft skin of the balls; now slopping sucking kisses around where frenulum meets crown, which makes Percy buck his hips for the first time. Time reduces to the wet slurping of his own mouth and hands, the pounding beat of his blood, the moans he extracts from his beautiful lover. Percy's hand, which has been crawling to loosely press against the back of Monty's neck, suddenly lifts away, leaving the spot where it was feeling cold. "Mmf?" He says, in protest, grazing the good spot with his teeth.  
  
"I--Monty!" Percy is trying to pull away. "I'll--mmm--" He bucks and looks horribly penitent.  
  
"Oh, _dar_ ling," says Monty, briefly concerned, but with a smirk of realization as Percy gasps and covers his eyes. "Am I going to make you _come_?" This is incredible: he has never seen Percy look like this. Embarrassed, alarmed, yet so eager. Sweat polishes his fine skin.  
  
"Ugh, shh, shh," Percy stretches his hands toward Monty's mouth. "Don't speak--quiet a moment--"  
  
"I will _not_ ," He leans in, the smirk becoming a beam. "Am I going to make you come by just _talking_?" Percy utters a strangled groan. He lets go of Percy's fevered cock and puts his good cheek on the bed beside Percy's scarlet ear. "Touch me, then, my love."  
  
Percy's fingers close around him with guilty alacrity. "I'm sorry--"  
  
"Stop apologizing, already."Monty says again, then, as low and steady as he can, directly into the warm shell of Percy's ear, "Do well and I'll use this to make you come." For emphasis, he sucks on the lobe, then dips the tip of his tongue firmly inside Percy's ear, and suddenly he's being pressed backward until he's sitting upright, sending a cushion or two tumbling off the bed while Percy's hands clamp hard around his forearms. Dimly, he feels a spray of warm wetness against his belly.     
  
Gasping for breath, sweat trickling down his sternum, Percy looks down at Monty, aghast. "Oh God." He snatches at the corner of a sheet and mops at Monty's front. "Oh, Monty, I'm sorry!"  
  
"Stop apologizing, Perce." Monty says reflexively. He looks down at the commingled sweat and come and spit that glazes him, then lifts his face to his lover. "That was close."  
  
"What?" Percy swipes feverishly with the sheet, pulling it loose from its neat tuck in the edge of the bed. "Oh, no," he whispers, horrified. "Did it get on your face? Oh, Monty--"  
  
"No, silly--well, yes, it did actually," he interrupts himself to take an experimental taste with his tongue. "I meant, if my face were down there still, you would've drowned me."  
   
***  
Afterwards, as he sinks to sleep, sated, Percy's arms draped around him, he chortles a little to himself.

If teasing Percy Newton were what it took to get him to stop apologizing and start taking fucking with the dedication and seriousness that Monty knew to be in him, then Monty's going have to have to keep thinking of good lines.  
  
  

**Author's Note:**

> My sincere apologies to Ms. Lee and all. 
> 
> This was composed in 2 bursts and rather hastily (as I must stop procrastinating on another writing project). I hope you'll have a nice time with it anyhow.


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